


Tie My Heart in Knots

by cloverfield



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Aftercare, Established Relationship, Kinbaku, M/M, NSFW, Post-Series, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverfield/pseuds/cloverfield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fai had wanted nothing more than to see his lover bound by his hand, or none at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tie My Heart in Knots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PokeChan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PokeChan/gifts).



> Written for a prompt meme over on tumblr; the two prompts I was given -Kurogane and the use of rope; Kurogane noisy and needy- seemed to fit so well together, I could hardly help myself.

In the months since their return to Nihon - _their_ , plural, because they were together now and would not be separated by space or time or anything else that might stand between them- Fai had grown used to life in the palace. The gardens were, well,  _palatial_ , and certainly a place of pleasure to while away many an hour in the company of his most esteemed royal hosts beneath the shade of blossoming trees and amongst the perfectly cultivated sculptures of earth, water and stone that stood as proof of the breathtaking art Nihon poured into their very landscaping. The barracks and dojo situated within the palace grounds provided diversions of a more martial nature, when the itch for a fight settled beneath his skin, and once Fai had gleefully thrashed the handful of young, arrogant men who believed him weak for being a foreigner, he never lacked for eager sparring partners.

(Kurogane, of course, never turned down a good fight, though they rarely sparred anywhere near the public training grounds. All too often a playful -but no less destructive- match between the two of them would turn into a different kind of grappling all together, and thankfully his lover’s desire needed privacy as much as Fai’s did.)

There were intellectual aspects to his life in Shirasagi Castle, also. Kurogane was a fiercely intelligent man, of noble birth and very well educated, if somewhat contrarily to what Fai had expected; their worlds and cultures were very different, after all. He had not been surprised in the least, however, to learn that it was something of a point of honour for a man of his class and standing to take part in the many activities regarded as a matter of course by the intelligentsia of the palace. Shirasagi offered flower arrangement, painting and calligraphy, comparative tactic analysis of battles past and present, poetry contests -and cut-throat ones at that! Fai had nearly cried laughing at the flustered noblemen torn to strips by Her Imperial Majesty’s wickedly barbed offerings- and many,  _many_  forms of literature to browse at one’s leisure.

The libraries at Shirasagi were beautiful. Finely-bound and elegantly written texts and scrolls arranged in perfect sense and order, by subject and name and author; walls and walls and walls of shelves, cared for by a dedicated team of archivists and librarians, and open to the courtiers one and all. The most sacred and significant texts were, of course, kept under constant guard, but seeing as that Fai was firmly ensconced in Her Divine Majesty’s favour-

(”Divine Majesty my gloriously sculpted  _arse_ ,” Kurogane had snorted while watching Fai and Kendappa compete in a sake-swilling contest, and earned himself a sound clip around the ear from Souma he hadn’t even bothered to dodge. In his defence, though, Fai could certify both that the Empress was as crude as any booze hound when she was on a happily indulgent bender, and also that Kurogane’s arse really was as gloriously sculpted as implied.)

-it had been quite easy to obtain permission from the head archivist to browse amongst the stacks closed off from public access.

Which was what had led to his current state of utter confusion.

“I don’t understand,” said Fai mildly, despite how flustered he was, and his lack of understanding had nothing to do with the illegibly crabbed, spidery script written in the margins of the illustrations in question. “What  _is_ this?”

Kurogane, on his rostered three-day break of his guarding shift cycle, leant idly over the top of Fai, resting his chin atop Fai’s hair and huffing out an amused breath that stirred strands of it where it fell into his eyes. “ _Shunga_ ,” he said, after a brief pause to assess the beautifully-coloured print Fai held out before him, and the word was not one Fai had ever heard before. “Erotic wood-block prints. A pretty nice quality one too, actually. Figured Her Majesty would only have the best kept for posterity.”

Fai blinked. “This was kept... intentionally?” Sometimes, his grasp on Nihongo -which, whilst it would most likely take many years before he could be considered fluent, was certainly impressive and damn well should be considering how hard he’d worked making it so- failed him completely. “This... lewdness?”

Kurogane snorted, chin moving atop Fai’s head and his body warm against Fai’s back as he bit back a laugh. “’Lewd’? You didn’t get that word from me.” It wasn’t an answer, though, and Fai jabbed him with his elbow, just hard enough to get his point across. “This is  _art_ , mage. ‘course the archivists kept copies.” His lover reached out then, turned a page with the tip of a finger, the sigh of paper against paper provoking a shiver Fai couldn’t hold back. “See this seal, here? This is a reproduction of one of Kuhosai’s more popular works. He was a great artist in the last century, and Tomoyo has one of his original scrolls hanging in her tea room.”

“Not one like this, I should hope!” Fai gasped, unable to reconcile the image before him –two figures entwined, in a silken flurry of unravelling robes, draping sleeves and dappled, dewy skin exposed for the viewer; dark hair tumbling in dishevelled tresses from a carefully coiffed hair-do, combs twinkling like stars in tangled locks as one lover of ambiguous gender threw back their head in ecstasy beneath the loving attentions of the other- with the peace and serenity of the Princess’ tea room and the genteelly cultured ceremonies performed within.

This time, Kurogane laughed out loud, and the sound was startling enough in its rarity and utter abandon that the dozing archivist in the distance jerked awake. “Hell no, and I’d slit the bastard from gut to gullet that dared put it there!” Kurogane’s voice was clearly amused, but Fai had no doubt whatsoever his words were serious. “That iris painting you love so much- Kuhosai made that too,” Kurogane explained. The painting in question was stark in its simplicity, but haunting in its beauty; a single bloom, touched by rain, a perfect fragment of wistful colour adrift against a hazy grey background that brought to mind the quiet of a late summer shower that lingered well into twilight. “Art isn’t just pretty flowers and mountain landscapes and battle scenes. It’s stuff like this too.” A moment of silence then, but not the uncomfortable kind, as Kurogane turned another page, _hmm_ ing thoughtfully even as heat flared in Fai’s cheeks at the depiction of what was clearly two men locked in a passionate embrace, a slender figure pressed down into rumpled bedding beneath their broader lover and both parties near senseless with sheer delight as they surged against one another. It was a rather accurate depiction of the events of not two nights ago, in fact, and the bolt of lust that shocked through Fai’s belly was alarming in its sudden heat.  “Have you never seen anything like this before?”

There was no censure in the question, merely curiosity; one lover asking a question of another without shame or accusation, and Fai was grateful for that. Because while the intrigues of the court at Ceres had been just as passionately scandalous as the tangled webs of interpersonal relations between the nobles of Shirasagi apparently were, Fai himself had stayed removed from them- had never, in all his long and lonely years, taken a lover before Kurogane. He’d read poetry and romances and medical texts and heard all of the theory; understood how and why and what it meant to give yourself to someone wholly. But in his despair he had never been able to justify something so selfish as his own pleasure, and so stayed chaste and terribly alone for all of his unnaturally-extended youth. Still, Fai hadn’t been surprised, exactly, to learn that Kurogane was no virgin; he’d gathered as much very quickly in their time alone in Yama, considering how blasé the man had been to the soldier’s trysts that had taken place in the complicated tent city that sprawled outside Yasha’s castle (and the offer his companion had been given of _participating_ , which had startled and alarmed Fai with an electric kind of panic he’d realised later had been both jealousy and shocking arousal at the thought). And it had been something of a relief that when their relationship had finally progressed from _I’d offer you my blood to sustain you and cut off my arm to save your life / I’d sell the last scraps of the magic that was my birthright and my curse to make you whole_ to _I want to touch you everywhere you’ll let me / yes, please, but only if you’ll let me touch you too_ that Kurogane had proven himself not only a gentle and attentive lover, but an understanding one too.

(“Whatever you need, whatever I can give you,” Kurogane had murmured. “Just tell me,” and the heat of that mouth as he bent low, lips pressing so gently to the trembling breadth of Fai’s palm, had all but scorched him to the bone in a thunderclap flash of burning desire.

“ _Everything_ ,” Fai had groaned, and meant it.)

Fai took a deep, shuddering breath. “No. There were… laws against obscenity in Valeria. Sex was for procreation, not pleasure. Something like this would have been burned.” And the creator put to death for his pains, his corpse thrown into the pit. How different, the worlds they had been born to; here, where the act of love was a fact of life and immortalised in art and poetry, and the cold cruel castle of his birth where marriage was to produce children only, and sex a sinful chore. “And in Ceres, well. Our art was more abstract and portrait-based, and our romances usually written.” And in metaphor at that; it had taken him _months_ as a youth to realise what the imagery of raindrops on rose petals was supposed to mean- though once he _had_ he’d been unable to look his tutor in the eye for weeks.

Kurogane was quietly thoughtful for a moment, cool metal fingers coming to rest at Fai’s hip and idly stroking the edge of it through the folds of his kimono. Fai was grateful for the silence, but unable to help himself from turning more pages of the book he held even so, startled and impressed and, yes, a little aroused by what he saw: two women, one with hair that fell in a silky tumble down to her feet, entwined upon a couch with the shutters open wide and sunlight spilling across their bare breasts and the pillowy folds of their ample bellies; a husband and wife engaged in enthusiastic and laughing coitus upon the matting of their living room floor, the woman’s apparent joyful cries startling the family cat into fleeing; two brawny men and a slender figure who Fai took to be a noble of some kind, the men prostrate and kissing their feet, both stripped naked in contrast to the noble’s sumptuous robes; lovers of all kinds and combinations and positions, all of them passionate and happy and _loving_ , and it was… striking to see. He’d never known art could be like this.

He was starting to understand that _this_ was what sex was supposed to be, and that was because of the man who’d taken him to bed and given him everything- and gladly so.

“What do you think?” said Kurogane softly, the words breathed warm and soft against his ear. The words were light and free of pressure, of expectation; only honest interest as to his opinion.

“Uh,” said Fai, and shivered helplessly, steadied only by the solid weight of the man behind him. “I… I like it.”

No response, not in words at least; but as close as they were, it was easy to feel Kurogane’s amused hum, nearly soundless but something Fai could feel ringing through him like an echoing chord struck. “I’m needed at the sparring grounds this afternoon, to assist Souma with the selection of the new recruits,” said Kurogane suddenly, which was a complete non sequitur as far as Fai was concerned. “That’s what I came looking for you in the first place to tell you,” Kurogane added, not at all helping with Fai’s concentration, considering his mouth was still distractingly close to Fai’s ear, and the low burr of his voice was raising the fine hair on the nape of Fai’s neck in slow, tingling increments. “So you’ll need to keep yourself occupied until dinner.”

“You’re on break,” was what Fai managed to say, instead of anything like _how about you skip the recruits and keep me occupied instead_, and was rather impressed with his self-control.

“Yeah,” sighed Kurogane, and the drag of his lips against the curve of Fai’s ear, warm and slow and thoughtful, _had_ to be on purpose. “But I’m also the only one Souma can count on, seeing as I’ve seen more action than the rest of the battalion combined.” Again, another comment he could have twisted into a tease so easily, but where his wit was normally so quick, now his tongue felt slow and thick, heavy in his mouth. “So why don’t you,” and here Kurogane’s hand slid along his arm, trailing heat through layers of silk in a whisper of contact to come to rest over his hand, strong dark fingers sliding between his own where they curled around the spine of the book so snap it quickly shut, “take _this_ back to our rooms, and take your time reading it.”

When Fai turned to look at him, Kurogane’s face was coolly impassive, but the gleam in his eye was the kind that could get a man into the best kind of trouble. “If you find something you like,” he drawled, the words lazy and sure that Fai _would_ , “then you can tell me about it. And if you want to, we can try it.”

Not for the first time in his life did Fai realise how lucky -how incredibly, impossibly, never-count-his-blessings-again _lucky_ \- he was to have this man as his lover.

“Mind you,” Kurogane added then, the edge of laughter colouring his voice. “Be aware that not everything you see in those paintings is possible. The artist… _exaggerates_.” Fai couldn’t help but grin at that, because _that_ was true of all artists of every kind, but the smile faded soon enough; not from sadness or anything like fear (as it had so often in the past) but from simple thoughtfulness.

“Alright,” said Fai eventually, lowly, and if his voice was husky then certainly _Kurogane_ didn’t seem to mind, not with how his mouth curled up at a sharp corner, the faintest shadow of sharp teeth showing against his lip. “I’d like that.”

* * *

It didn’t end up happening that night, not after one of the recruits had turned out to be a disguised assassin, exactly as Souma had suspected, and the resulting merry chase had led to blood on the walls and Kurogane prowling around the castle long into the dark hours of the morning looking for anything else that might be a threat to his sworn liege lady. In the end, Fai had warded Princess Tomoyo’s rooms with a spell he’d taught himself from mouldering texts years before, one completely alien to any talent Nihon’s pool of magic users might possess and thus unbreakable and easily defendable. He’d sealed it with a mix of his own blood and Kurogane’s -from a cut to his thumb and the slow-drying streak at his lover’s temple respectively- painted at mantel and lintel as speckled runes that had burned into the wood and promptly disappeared, ensuring that no soul with harmful intent could enter them without suffering a painful end.

And it didn’t happen the day after, not when the kitchen abruptly caught alight when the kitchen boy, exhausted from the previous night’s proceedings, had fallen asleep while tending the main fire; Fai had called a sudden rain-shower and drenched two-thirds of the palace before the flames could spread any further, but though the damage had been minimal and easily dealt with, it had still put a dampener on any potential armour considering the sheer chaos the palace had been thrown into, and understandably so.

It was two days after that, in the evening of a surprisingly uneventful day –suspiciously uneventful, in fact, especially considering how Tomoyo had spent the whole day giggling at him behind her draping sleeves- that they had the chance to talk.

“Did you finish it?” asked Kurogane, cupping a match in his hand as he lit the lantern by their bedside, the bright spark against his palm blooming into a mellow glow behind the rice-paper sheets in their lacquered frames. “Your book?” His hair was damp from the baths, speckled still with droplets of water that rolled down the back of his neck, soaking into the soft cotton of his evening yukata.

“Uh, yes,” said Fai, startled a little; he had, a little foolishly perhaps, assumed the topic forgotten. Comb in hand, he sank onto his knees atop the plump cushioning of the waiting futon, before Kurogane even had the chance to pull down the covers. His ribbon slithered between his fingers as he drew it free, the soft weight of his hair spilling over his shoulders as familiar now as it had once been strange. “Before the fighting started, four days ago. Did you ever find out which cabal was behind the infiltration?”

“No,” grunted Kurogane, clearly irritated at the thought. His hands fell to his obi, unknotting it with practiced ease, and folding it neatly even as the folds of his yukata yawned wide, soft dark cloth framing the strong lines of his body beautifully. “Souma has her network looking out for any leaks or spies, but it’s going to take a while before we get any solid leads.” Despite how invested he was in the topic, Fai found his attention drifting, caught by the flow of shadow across Kurogane’s broad chest as he stripped away his robe, that too folded neatly and joining his obi as he sank to his knees in one graceful movement. “We’ll catch them,” he added, turning down the covers and sliding under them. “Kendappa’s out for blood.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Fai mildly, and could echo the sentiment; he had not known Princess Tomoyo for very long, not nearly so long as those that guarded her, but the young priestess was responsible for significant portions of his happiness, and for that, Fai would gladly serve her as well as he was able- besides which, she was lovely in her own right, at least when she was not causing mischief, and sometimes _especially_ then.

“So. What did you like?” Fai didn’t startle this time, aware that the topic had not been averted truly, and his hands were steady as he drew his comb through his hair. He swallowed once, licked his lips from habit, but he was not nervous. How could he be, when this man offered him everything he was and with nothing like shame?

“The rope,” said Fai gently, and laid down his comb, curling his ribbon between his fingers. The rope had been just as red, just as striking, dyed in brilliant contrast to the soft, fair figure of the one it had been wound around- and Fai had wanted nothing more than to see those delicate knots and weaving harnesses wrapped about dark skin and strong muscle, his lover bound by his hand or none at all. He wanted Kurogane bound for him, caught and tangled up in rope as surely as Fai himself had been caught and tangled up in a love he could not have expected. He wanted _power_ over this man, who could break him so easily- and chose not to, had chosen instead to fight and struggle and claw back against the darkness that had nearly swallowed Fai whole into despair and inevitable death, casting aside blood and bone as sacrifice to buy his freedom. 

(He still woke gasping in the middle of the night sometimes, sweat breaking on his skin and his heart hooked tight in his chest- but there was always a strong hand to tangle with his own, to pull him from those dark dreams and lead him back to the light once more.)

It had not been a violent realisation, this wanting; rather, something slow and dawning that had rolled over him like the tide drawn into shore. But it was powerful and unstoppable, this tidal yearning, and even as he slid out from his robe and beneath the covers, Fai could feel himself shivering at the mere thought.

“Alright,” said Kurogane softly, and blew out the lantern with a quick huff of breath. “Rope. We can do that,” his voice dark and soft and so dear, and when the covers shifted, Kurogane lifting one arm beneath the sheets to leave a space beside him, Fai sighed out a shuddering breath. “Come here,” this last was a murmur, and an invitation gladly taken.

Fai woke alone, as he sometimes did; Kurogane worked long hours and rose before the sun often, and it was not unusual for Fai to find Kurogane’s side of the futon empty come the dawn. But the pillow beside him was not empty: a small, linen-bound journal pressed into its soft expanse, and a neatly knotted and generous length of the finest hemp-and-jute rope sat atop it. It felt slippery-coarse to his fingers, as they reached out in trembling amazement, smooth and catching all at once, and even just sliding his fingertips across its corded length rose a shiver beneath his skin. _To read_ , said the note beside it; a scrap of paper, and Kurogane’s writing stark and beautiful in black ink. _For tonight_.

“Yes,” sighed Fai, and rolled onto his back beneath the covers, the rope held loosely in one hand, the other flat-palmed over his racing heart. “Tonight.”

* * *

The soft glow of the lantern flickered a little in the breeze tickling through the open shoji. The light was a small one against the cool dark of the evening, casting long shadows across the walls and spilling warmth across the futon, already laid out across the floor with covers turned down invitingly. “Well. You didn’t waste any time,” murmured Fai as he stepped across the threshold, closing the inner doors and slipping the latch behind him. Kurogane, sitting on the verandah, rolled his shoulder in half a shrug and tipped his head back just enough that he could look up at Fai as he crossed the room, bare feet soft on the matting.

“Sit,” he said softly. “The moon’s just risen.”

It was easy for Fai to sink to his knees onto the smooth-polished wood of the verandah, close enough he could feel the warmth rising from Kurogane’s own body; it was easier still to make himself more comfortable, splaying out his legs in a sprawl that made his robe ride up and bunch awkwardly beneath his thighs. In public, it would have been scandalous to be so dishevelled, the folds of his yukata gaping open across his chest and legs all but bare beneath the rucked-up folds of his robes- here, it earned him a snort from the man he sat so ungracefully beside and an amused look besides.

“You keep sitting like that, and you’ll catch a cold,” said Kurogane mildly, tugging a fold back over Fai’s knee with idle fingers.

“Kuro-sama will keep me warm,” was the blithe response, and Fai did not stutter as warm fingers slipped suddenly beneath the soft cotton they had smoothed down, sliding curiously up his thigh. “Hey now, I didn’t say you could do that.”

Kurogane paused unhurriedly, his fingers tracing idle circles on skin that seemed electrified even beneath that light touch. “Hm? Did you want me to stop?”

“No,” huffed Fai, startled into a laugh at the ticklish sensation. “Just- _ah_.” Still ticklish, as the catch of callused fingertips slid slowly higher, but breathless now in ways that had less to do with laughter and more to do with how Kurogane was watching him like a hungry man a feast. “Far from it, Kuro-fondle. You’re moving quick,” he managed to add, sucking in a harsh breath when Kurogane’s thumb found the crease of his hip and dragged slowly down it. It was in no way a protest.

“Mm. You get too noisy when I go slow,” and Fai _would_ have had a clever counter for that, had not Kurogane leant closer, and what else was he meant to do with the man but kiss him when his mouth was _right there_ , and temptingly so? It was a good kiss, the kind that started gentle and stayed gentle, even as the edge of hunger bled through the press of lips and the stroke of a clever tongue, and it wasn’t until Fai turned away to drag in a shuddering breath that he realised that Kurogane’s equally clever fingers had made quick work of his obi and left it to fall soft across the floorboards.

“Inside,” murmured Kurogane, leaning in close enough to press the tip of his nose behind Fai’s ear and trail it slowly down the slope of his neck. “I’ll have your yukata next, and that’s not a sight I’ll share, even by moonlight.”

“That was almost, _mm_ , poetry,” said Fai, more throatily than he had intended. “I never picked you for a poet, Kuro-charmer.” He stumbled upright, catching the hand Kurogane held out to him and dragging his lover upwards, catching a breath in his teeth when Kurogane took the chance to push the loose folds of Fai’s yukata over one shoulder, sending the whole thing slithering down his back in a tumble of soft fabric that puddled at his feet. “Ah!”

“I’m good at calligraphy too,” and Kurogane’s voice was as hot and dark as his eyes, strong fingers closing firmly about Fai’s wrist and pulling him close enough that they stepped over the threshold as one. “You should see my ink paintings.”

“Show me later,” gasped Fai, somehow gathering the presence of mind to kick his crumpled clothes away from the door tracks. “Better things to do right now.” The shoji rattled closed, just a little too quickly, and Fai had only a second to catch his breath before Kurogane was on him, crushing him close with a strength that should have been terrifying but only fired his blood with urgency, his hands tangling in the knot of Kurogane’s belt and tugging fiercely as he stepped backwards. “I want you on the bed,” growled Fai, already on the verge of losing patience, but warm hands closed over his own and drew them gently away, Kurogane lifting one hand to his mouth to nibble thoughtfully on the edges of Fai’s fingers.

“Now who’s moving quick. Slow down, mage- we’ve got all night.” His tongue slipped warm along the pad of Fai’s fingertip, sucking it into his mouth and closing his lips about it with the same heavy-lidded expression Fai had last seen when Kurogane had gone down on his knees a week before.

Fai shuddered. “Keep looking at me like that and we won’t.”

“Alright,” said Kurogane, drawing back and kissing the scars that bled over Fai’s fingertips, dragging his lips softly over rippled, once-torn skin. “Did you read the manual I left for you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Fai groaned, the word rattling in his throat. His hand grabbed for a fistful of Kurogane’s robes, crumpling dark cloth in his trembling grip.

“Good.” Kurogane’s mouth slid hot and gentle along the flat of his palm, sharp teeth teasing gently at the bones of his wrist and down, down. “Do you know what you want to do?”

“I want to tie you up and watch you writhe,” said Fai, dragging in a deep breath to keep his voice steady. His heartbeat was pounding, _roaring_ in his ears, so loud he could barely think. “I want to bend you over and take you with your arms bound behind your back. I want you at my mercy,” he sighed, stroking his hand heavily down Kurogane’s chest, catching on where his yukata wrapped around his waist and pulling at its folds. “Please.”

“We can do that.” Kurogane’s hands slid over his own, curling both their fingers around the knot of Kurogane’s obi, showing Fai how and where to pull so that it unravelled and poured through his fingers to pool forgotten on the floor. The yukata was next, Kurogane shrugging out of it before Fai could push it away from broad, broad shoulders, and then he was clothed in only the soft glow of the lantern, pooling in warm, chiaroscuro patterns across dusky skin. Fai could not stop himself from touching, and did not try.

“Do you have the rope?” Fai asked, throat tight, hands trembling.

“By the futon,” said Kurogane simply, and the heat in his eyes said Fai was not the only one looking forward to this. “With the oil. We’ll need rules for this, so we don’t hurt each other.”

Fai could have said _I would never hurt you_ , but it would not be true; he had before, whether he had wanted to or not. “The text recommended… a safe word, to call a halt. And a knife, to cut bonds in case of injury.” It had shown the best places for rope to slide and knots to be tied, to bring pleasure or discomfort but no lasting damage; it had listed how to free the one bound with all haste should their binding turn harmful or unsafe, and Fai had found comfort in knowing that consideration for the care of the tied-up lover was placed above all.

“Mm.” Kurogane’s hand was so hot where it fell to his hip, fingers curling about the arch of it and tightening so that Fai was forced closer, closer. “My word is _yama_ ,” he said, with careful enunciation, “and you don’t need a knife.” He took Fai’s hand, then; stroked along the beds of his fingernails so that Fai felt the itch of claws aching to push forth. A legacy of his vampire blood -along with his tendency to bite when passion was on him- and not something Fai could forget; more than enough to slice through so fine a rope. “Say it for me.”

“Yama,” repeated Fai, and thought of moonlight and Kurogane’s dark grin on the battlefield. He curled his hands tight and frantic about Kurogane’s shoulders, pushing him three steps closer to the futon with eagerness alone. “Bed. _Please_. I need you on your knees,” he managed, the words sticking in his throat, clinging to his teeth; there was an urgency rising in him that could not and would not be denied.

“Easy,” said Kurogane softly, and sank down to the futon smoothly. “Take your time. I’ll give you what you need.” He reached behind himself, found the rope where it was nestled in the folds of the bedding, and began to slowly untie the knot that bound it. It flowed through his fingers as it came loose, long spools of straw-coloured jute and hemp woven in strong, sturdy strands. “I couldn’t find you some that was red,” said Kurogane quietly. “Not at such short notice. But I know a rope-master, and I know where it can be bought. If you like it, I can get you some later.” He grinned then, sudden and sharp, enough to send a jolt of lust spiking through Fai’s belly. “I took this one from the armoury.”

Fai fell to his knees beside Kurogane with less grace, taking the end he was offered and winding it around his palm to feel the rasp of it across his skin; the hair on his arms stood up in a wave from wrist to elbow as it slithered through his grip, making his hands shake just a little. “Tie me up,” said Kurogane, “I want you to,” and Fai wanted it too, wanted it so much that what else could he do but take a hold of Kurogane’s hand and pull him close, rising up onto his knees as the length of the rope trailed over his arm to coil across the futon in a tangle of possibility.

“Start with my wrists,” murmured Kurogane, leaning close enough to breathe the words hot in Fai’s ear. Fai’s fingers dropped from his with a bitten back groan, and when Kurogane shifted on his knees to turn away, his arms held out behind him with elbows mirrored and hands palm to palm, shoulders pulled in and the powerful muscle of his back rippling beneath his scars as he leant forward. To see this strong man bending over almost double to offer up his wrists in supplication made Fai’s breath catch in aching want. “A simple hand behind back hold should be enough. Tie it off in three places.”

Beneath his fingers, Kurogane’s skin was warm, flushed with the heat of arousal, and his pulse was steady and strong. When Fai twisted the first loop of rope about the firmness of his forearms, metal fingers curled towards their matching palm, Kurogane breathing out slow and deep with a sigh that dipped his shoulders low even as they pulled towards each other. Fai slipped two fingers beneath the first loop to test for the cut of the rope and the burr of almost-rough texture against skin; Kurogane shuddered gently, shifting on his knees as Fai’s fingers slipped free and trailed up slowly towards his elbow. “You’ve done this before,” Fai whispered, feeling heady with the realisation. “Haven’t you?”

When Kurogane spoke, his voice was thick, his words straining against each twist and slide of the ropes Fai wove around his arms, though he held himself perfectly still. “I am a high-ranked shinobi of Shirasagi, trained to serve and protect the Tsukuyomi. I am proficient in all forms of restraint, and rope is only one of them. Once I have captured them, I can bind a captive, man or woman, adult or child, in more than thirty different ways: with rope and wire, silk and bamboo.” The slithering rasp of hemp on hemp pricked Fai’s skin, brought sweat to his palms, his fingers damp and slippery against the grain of the rope- but he did not stop, and Kurogane’s voice was a dark and heady ringing in his ears. “Some ways are simple, some are cruel, some bring a slow lingering death that starves the body of its blood and brings numbness to the limbs before they begin to die; all of them are perfect in function and form. All of them impossible to escape from without a blade.” The first knot Fai needed to tie fell into place with a soft rasp, catching tight and immoveable. “I have never let anyone take a rope to me before, mage.”

The diamond pattern Fai was weaving slithered up Kurogane’s arms, and the pulse that jumped in the crook of his elbow fluttered beneath Fai’s fingertips. “Not for training,” said Kurogane, shoulders flexing once, twice. “Not for torture.” The second knot pulled true, rope biting into rope as it drew beautifully taut, forcing Kurogane’s forearms together and binding them tight. “Not for sex,” Kurogane growled, and Fai felt it in his bones, his mouth open and his breath huffing quick and urgent. “ _Never_.” Against dark skin, the colour of the undyed hemp was like woven grass, bleached by the sun; by lantern-light, the strands seemed to glow with warmth.

“Why now?” asked Fai, and could not make the words anything but hungry as he began the third knot, the scarred skin of his fingertips tingling as rope slid through them. “Why would you let me?” He already knew the answer- had seen it proven in blood and bone, felt the surety of it at his back in battle. But he wanted, _needed_ to hear it; needed to know this man felt what he felt, roaring in his chest with his stuttering breath, surging through his blood with his thundering heart.

“Because I trust you. Because I want you. Because as much as you are mine, _I am yours_.”

The final knot drew tight and sure, and Fai leant forward, draping himself over the man bound and prone beneath him so that the rope scratched at his belly and his forehead came to rest between Kurogane’s shoulders. He took three staggering breaths, each one clumsy, and his hands were frantic as they skipped across the binding he had woven, checking for tightness and restriction of blood flow. The skin that covered cabling tendons and metal bones was cool and firm, and the warmth of living flesh was flushed with only eagerness, and nothing more. “Tell me if anything hurts. Tell me if it’s too tight. Tell me if you need me to stop,” he said, forcing his voice to steadiness as he pressed his lips to warm skin and long-healed scars, tasted clean salt-sweat beneath his tongue.

“I need you to _keep going_ ,” Kurogane groaned, his fingers curling where they just barely brushed Fai’s skin. It was the only touch he could control, the only thing he could take for himself now that Fai had him bound and captive, and the power of it hit Fai like a blow in the belly, one that would have buckled him down to the floor had he not already been on his knees. There was so much rope left, draped loose and flowing down Kurogane’s back; it was simple to lengthen one nail to razor-sharpness and slice it free with a single, careful flick.

“Yes,” Fai hissed, and kissed the nape of Kurogane’s neck, kissed his shoulders, kissed the seam where his scars ended and his prosthetic arm began. His lips moved gently against warm skin, his breath a sigh as he ghosted his hands down Kurogane’s sides, traced the heaving cage of his ribs and palmed the taut, tight muscle of his stomach to feel it flutter beneath his touch. Kurogane groaned again, his arms jerking in short, helpless movements, and as he moved, the spare length of rope slid down his back to puddle carelessly on the futon.

“Should I tie your legs, too? Bind you calf to thigh, and hold you open?” Fai murmured, hands sliding warm down the flat of Kurogane’s thighs, scratching blunt-again nails down taut skin and thick muscle. “I could if I wanted. If you wanted.” He curled his fingers, trailing them softly over the insides of Kurogane’s knees and sliding up in slow, teasing strokes. “I don’t think I need to. I think you’ll bend over for me and hold yourself there without needing the rope.”

Kurogane cursed, a breathless whisper that Fai could not quite hear- but one he understood the meaning of just fine without words. The ropes creaked gently as his lover struggled, briefly, to master himself; a shudder rolled down the length of Kurogane’s back as Fai’s hands left him, and for a long moment they both breathed heavy and harsh, fighting for composure.

“Lean down, as far as you can, your face to the bedding,” said Fai eventually, and his voice was as steady as his legs were trembling as he pulled himself away with difficulty, staggering to his feet in search of the small bottle of oil they kept close to the futon. “Make sure you can breathe easily, Kuro-sama. You’re going to be there for a while.”

As Kurogane shifted, still perfectly balanced even with his arms braced and bound behind him, Fai found what he was searching for and pulled the cork stopper free from cool glass with a soft squeak. The oil was cool as he poured it into his palm, slicking it over his fingers to coat them with its glistening shine, and when he turned back to the futon it was to find Kurogane bent over beautifully, knees braced and back a powerful, graceful arch. “Come on,” said Kurogane thickly. “Don’t make me wait.”

Fai fell to his knees without care for the hard floors beneath the futon, surging forward and all but falling over the man beneath him, too eager to touch to stop himself. A slippery hand fell to Kurogane’s hips to hold him still as the other slipped between parted thighs, and Kurogane’s breath left him in a bitten-back shout that sounded punched from his chest when Fai curled wet fingers about him eagerly, stroking quick and sure and just enough to tease. Kurogane’s chest heaved, pushing him back against Fai even as he nudged his knees between Kurogane’s own, forcing them wider and Kurogane to bend down further, enough to press his cheek flat to the bedding with eyes scrunched shut and teeth gritted.

If Fai had been feeling playful, he would have murmured _this is payback, Kuro-sama_ , because it was: for all the times he had writhed, gasping and begging in these sheets, brought to the brink by a touch calculated to leave him too breathless to fight back. But right now, Fai felt nothing but desperate, a heat rolling in his belly and prickling sweat across his chest, his skin itching and tight; he had to bite Kurogane on the slope of his shoulder, teeth sinking in hard to unscarred skin, to muffle a grunt when Kurogane pushed back with his hips, enough that the rope and his curling fingers brushed against Fai’s skin in the lightest, most helpless of touches.

“Come _on_ ,” said Kurogane again. The words were almost a plea.

“Stay still,” said Fai, tracing the tip of his tongue over the perfect bite marks he’d left in dusky skin. “If you can.”

Kurogane couldn’t, not when Fai stroked slippery fingers down his back and pressed them inside without warning, not when his other hand worked in slow, stuttering strokes in time with that gliding touch; Fai felt it in the tremors that raced through the body beneath him, in the catch of the rope against his skin as Kurogane’s arms jerked and fought against their bindings. When he kissed his way down from the top of Kurogane’s spine to his bound arms with an open mouth and the flick of his tongue, his lover moaned, slow and thick and strained almost to breaking, turning his head to catch the bedding in his teeth; and when Fai curled his fingers just so, stroking through the slickness of the oil with a firm and merciless pressure where it was needed most, something like a sob broke through that fierce guard, leaving them both to shudder with its echo.

“Now,” groaned Kurogane, half-muffled by the futon. “ _Now_.” Even on his knees, even tied up and bent over, it was a command.

Fai drew in a slow, shaking breath. “No,” he said gently, dizzy with the sheer _power_ of the word, of this moment when he was wholly in control. “Only when I say. Not yet.”

Not much longer at all, in spite of his earlier threat; he couldn’t resist, not with how his head was spinning with heat and need, not with how perfect the rope looked bound tight over those strong and straining arms. Two fingers became three and Kurogane _whined_ at the stretching stroke, a low and needy sound Fai had never heard before -but would hear again, _yes_ , over and over if he had his way- his lover snarling his frustration into the futon when Fai pulled away and grabbed for the oil with shaking, slippery hands, slopping it across his belly and spilling it over the arch of Kurogane’s spine in his clumsy haste. It dripped in gleaming lines down the backs of spread thighs, droplets pattering wetly to the sheets below, and even though it meant a mess to clean up later Fai couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Now,” gasped Kurogane again, on his knees, bound and tied and slick with oil. “ _Please_ ,” and this time there was nothing else Fai wanted more, bracing one hand on the slope of that glorious back and the other sliding in a glossy streak to take trembling hold of Kurogane’s hip as he rolled forward on his knees, Fai pushing in and falling apart as he slid into slippery heat with desperate urgency.

He doubled over almost immediately, arms shaking as he collapsed forward, and the rope scratched at his cheek as he gasped and pressed his face into the bindings he’d woven so carefully. Beneath him, _around_ him, Kurogane shuddered, choking out a low and breathless stream of curses as he struggled to hold still. His legs were trembling, tremors racing through the heavy muscles of his thighs as they bracketed Fai’s own, and Fai could not count the beats of the heart that raced under warm skin. It could not have been easy supporting both his own weight and Fai’s own without his hands to brace against the bedding, but even so Kurogane managed, and Fai could feel the tension strung tight in the powerful body bent over beneath him. A slow breath hissed out between Kurogane’s teeth, the sound aching and soft.

“Too quick?” asked Fai, breathless and just a little worried.

“ _No_ ,” came the groan, slow and straining, and that was enough. “’s good.” Kurogane would not lie to him, but Fai stroked his hands up quivering thighs, wrapped his arms around Kurogane’s waist and breathed deep and even until the racing heartbeat he could feel thundering through muscle and bone began to slow, falling in cadence with his own. It did not calm, could not calm, not for either of them; with the heat trapped between them and the shivering snake of pleasure coiling in his gut, Fai could not be anything like calm- but there was control here that he could claw back.

Slowly, Fai eased back, drawing himself up with his hands sliding back to Kurogane’s hips; slowly, Fai braced his knees against the rumpled sheets, gaining what purchase he could, and though his head was spinning –with heat, with need; with the roar of his own thoughts, like _he’s mine he’s mine he’s mine_ and _he’s never let anyone else do this, only me_ and _next time, the rope will be red_\- he found enough control to pull back in one slow and dragging motion that made Kurogane shake in a wave that rolled down from the top of his head to the toes that curled helpless in the bedding.

And when Fai bent down once more, just enough to press his lips warm and gentle to the long-healed wounds that had torn up that broad, beloved back -trailing up to the scar that marked a sacrifice once made, the seam of flesh and bone and metal that marked the price this man had paid to save him- Kurogane’s breath left him in a helpless sigh. “Are you gonna tease me all night?” he murmured, voice rough and soft and thready with something Fai knew as need. “Please, just move. I need you.”

“Alright,” said Fai, only a little shakily, but the hold of his hands was sure and strong. “Alright.”

The first thrust was tentative, gentle, a careful roll of his hips that was almost excruciatingly slow, but Fai could not stay so controlled for long. Not with the heat rising in his blood, not with the breathless sounds each surging snap of his hips broke from the man beneath him- and when he slid one hand up to twine his fingers around Kurogane’s own, to feel the strength and the fierceness of that powerful grip, so willingly bound, it was all he could do not to lose himself completely. His other hand fell to the ropes, twisting his fingers through the patterns woven across those strong arms, and when Fai started to shake, his breath heaving in his chest and his vision blurring and the heat that flushed his face spilling down, down in a rush that sped his pulse frantically, he could only hold on and desperately try to hold back the wave that threatened to sweep him over and pull him under.

It was good, _too_ good, the tight, dragging heat of every surge into his lover, the heavy weight of the thighs that pressed against his knees as he moved; each thrust provoked a shudder from Kurogane beneath him, those broad shoulders jumping and those strong fingers squeezing around Fai’s own almost helplessly. Kurogane was grunting, gasping, groaning- short, bitten-off sounds that struggled through his teeth and hissed out with his breath, and in them Fai could hear the threads of Kurogane’s fraying resistance snapping one by one. Shivers became full-blown shaking, sweat dappling the breadth of his shoulders and dripping wet into his hair as Kurogane pushed his face into the bedding in desperation. “Come on,” he snarled, “I need you to- I _need_ you to- _hnngh-!_ ”

Rocking back onto his heels with sudden force, Fai broke his hand free of clutching fingers, grabbing on tight to a handful of rope, beautifully woven threads rasping against his palm as he yanked back brutally and pulled Kurogane upright with irresistible force. A grunt of shock punched from Kurogane’s belly as he toppled heavily backwards into Fai’s lap, thighs splayed wide and head tipped back, held in place only by the knots that cut into slippery, sweating skin. Fai snapped his other arm around Kurogane’s waist, his free hand sliding open-palmed down that flat, rolling belly in a gloss of oil and sweat, slick fingers slipping lower to curl and stroke with sudden determination, and this time the sound that broke from Kurogane’s throat was that of a man breaking under the best and most exquisite kind of torture.

“Kuro-sama,” panted Fai, breath huffing hot and damp over the arch of Kurogane’s back, over skin that slid slick beneath the press of his forehead, and his head bowed low beneath the ache building in the pit of his belly, twisting through his limbs like rope pulled taut. Fai’s hair stuck to Kurogane’s shoulders in clinging, tacky strands, tickling his nose as he gulped for air greedily, and his arm shook where it trembled around Kurogane’s waist. “ _Kuro-sama._ Kuro- _ss_ -sam- _ah_ -!”

Kurogane broke first. Fai would be proud of that, later (when the rope was cut and their sweat was cool), but now it hit like a blow to the gut as the man in his arms came apart with a twisting, writhing shudder that shook him like he was falling to pieces; like the only thing that was keeping him together in this last, shattering moment was the hold Fai had on him with rope and hands and the desperate sinking of his teeth into the crook of neck and shoulder. _Mine mine mine,_ thought Fai, on the very brink of imminent and violent release, _I have you, and I will never let you go_. And the _sound_ that Kurogane made -as he fell, as he came, a cry torn ragged from his bitten lips as his back arched bow-string taut and the ropes whined in feeble protest to his desperate helpless struggling- struck home like an arrow loosed straight and true.

Fai shuddered into a final, driving thrust up and _in_ as a rush of wet heat spilled over his palm, slicking his fingers and the straining muscle of powerful, trembling thighs where they shook atop his own, and all he could see or feel or taste was Kurogane. He was heavy and hot and in Fai’s arms, bound and caught and willingly so, and the pleasure of it was _too much_ , far too much, and he was _gone_ : blood in his teeth and a shout hooked in his throat, darkness blurring his vision as the last scraps of his restraint fell to nothing, and the glorious rush of it swept up and over to finally take him away.

* * *

As Fai came back to himself slowly, he was first aware of the futon soft and crumpled beneath his cheek where he had fallen, and the delicious warm ache of sex-sore muscles tempting him into sleep. He blinked, once, struggling to gain conscious thought through a mind that felt as sleepy and tired as the last rays of sunlight melting into dusk, but then the weight and warmth of the man crushed in his arms came to his attention, and the scratch of rope against bare, sweat-slicked skin as they lay in a tangle with Kurogane’s bonds caught between them not long after.

“You were out a little while,” murmured Kurogane, his voice a husky ruin. He was still in Fai’s arms, shoulders taut and arms still tangled in their woven net- but there was no pain or discomfort in his bearing, and the legs that tangled warmly with Fai’s own where Fai lay curled around his broader frame did not shake or tremble. “Can you untie me? I could get free myself, but I’d probably have to dislocate a shoulder to do it.”

An unexpected chuckle rasped up from Fai’s chest, and he pressed his mouth warm and soft against the bloody crescent he’d apparently bitten into Kurogane’s shoulder, soothing the hurt with a gentle lick. “Mm. Hang on.” It was hard to let go; to sit up and let his arms slide free of the man beside him, and Fai’s head felt light and airy as he rose slowly to his knees. Gently, he braced his hands against hip and shoulder, rolling Kurogane over; his lover groaned as he settled onto his stomach, huffing out a heaving breath. “I’ve got you,” said Fai softly, and beneath the delicate _shik-shik-shik_ of razor-edged claws –easy to bring them out, with the taste of his prey warm and red on the tip of his tongue- the rope that wound Kurogane’s arms fell to wispy, tattered shreds.

He caught Kurogane’s wrists before his arms could tumble careless and slack to his sides and eased them slowly down to the futon, Kurogane groaning softly as the tension in his shoulders was released after so long imprisoned. “Kuro-sama,” murmured Fai, and ran his palm softly down the scarred and trembling expanse of that broad back, sorely-tested muscles twitching gently beneath his fingertips. “Oh, _anata_.”

“Worth it,” sighed Kurogane, the words half-breathless and so, so fond.

Dropping his dizzy head to press a brief kiss to the slope of one shoulder, Fai settled back on his heels, searching through the mess of the sheets beneath him for the cast-away vial of oil and pouring a generous dollop into his palm when he found it. “Stay where you are. My turn to take care of you.” Kurogane voiced no protest as Fai’s hands slid smooth and sure over the expanse of his back, gentle fingers kneading just-born knots from strained muscle and easing tension where he felt it. Touch was important, after; everything he had read had been very sure of this, that the love and patience shown by the one bound needed its reward, and if there was anything Fai could give Kurogane after his lover had been so indulgent, it was his to name. For now, though, he stroked and smoothed and let the touch of his hands speak the words his throat was too tight to say.

When the back beneath his hands was free of tension, muscle smooth and relaxed and Kurogane utterly lax atop the cushion of the futon, Fai moved to his arms, letting the tips of his fingers trail across the marks left on dusky skin. They were faint and red and striated; delicate, winding cicatrices written across the firm muscle of Kurogane’s right arm like brushstrokes, more lovely than any painting Fai had ever seen. In time they would bruise and darken, and then fade away- but their memory would linger long after. Kurogane’s left arm was unmarked, the high-grade synthetic skin from Piffle Princess Corp that stretched over metal bones and wire-cable muscle, courtesy of their last visit to Piffle, far too strong to be scarred by mere rope- but Fai let his hands stroke over the dips and swells of this strong arm all the same, each caress a glide of gratitude for all he had been given.

“Thank you,” he said, after Kurogane had rolled onto his back with a groan, his arm slung gently over the flat of his stomach; after the surviving rope had been knotted up and its frayed shreds tidied away, and Fai had found a soft cloth and damped it down with water from the waiting pitcher –and if his lover was anything, he was surely prepared- to wipe clean the sweat and slickness from both their tired bodies. The glow of the lantern was much lower than when the evening had begun, the shadows on the walls higher than they had been before and their darkness deeper- but the warmth in his lover’s gaze had not changed at all.

“Come here,” said Kurogane, when Fai knelt down beside him once more; he held out a hand whose fingers had not always been metal, in familiar and welcoming invitation. Smiling, Fai took that waiting hand, and with a soft breath, blew out the light.

* * *

Almost a week later, dawn found Fai waking alone, as he sometimes did; Kurogane worked long hours and often left before the sunlight could reach their futon through the high, clear windows of their room in the palace, and it was not unusual for Fai to find Kurogane’s side of the bed cool and empty beneath his searching fingertips. But this morning the pillow beside him was not empty: pressed gently into its soft expanse was a neatly knotted and generous length of the finest hemp-and-jute rope, dyed a brilliant and beautiful red. _Tonight_ , said the note beside it; a wisp of paper, and Kurogane’s writing stark and beautiful in black ink.

“Yes,” sighed Fai, and smiled as he rolled onto his back beneath the covers, the rope held loosely in one hand, the other flat-palmed over his racing heart. “ _Tonight_.” 


End file.
